Enemy Who Cannot Die
by StrangeSingaporean
Summary: Attacks on many people are being carried out. All were killed in the same, bloody way. Bayonets are involved. But the autopsies say otherwise. Is Anderson really the culprit? Written for DreadNot's Halloween contest. Graphic if imagined well. One shot.


Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs to Kouta Hirano, Geneon Entertainment, Gonzo Animation and Dark Horse Comics.

**

* * *

Enemy Who Cannot Die**

The floorboards creaked with each step, threatening to give way. Every small movement created a tiny gust of wind. Freezing wind. Every movement seemed like another signal to the enemy, informing him of their presence. Then, the first shock came.

At the mouth of a fork, there pinned a body to the wall by bayonets. On the face of the corpse stuck an unmistakable look of terror. Nothing unusual yet. But then, the eyes were gouged out roughly. Remnants of eyeballs could be seen in their sockets, stained red by the blood. Nevertheless, the pale white could be seen.

The skull of the dead man was loosely crushed, giving the head an odd shape. No teeth were visible. His jaw was devoid of bones, just rotting flesh and blood. The body was ravaged; deep wounds revealed parts of the interior, some internal organs were even hanging out.

There the body hung, as limp as a puppet and as ghastly as a ghoul.

The deeper the detective and his team explored the crumbled mansion, the more gore they met with. The bodies were all pinned by bayonets, and they had fatal injuries similar to the first. Some, however, were so decayed that they had slipped from the blades to the floor. It was a grisly sight. It was worse than being in a slaughterhouse.

The place reeked foul; the detective hated it, but pressed on. He had to find the culprits behind these attacks.

Surely, it was not the work of a vampire. If it were, the corpses would have turned to zombie beings. Ghouls, as they were called.

Unprepared, they entered a room which gave them an even more eerie feeling than the rest. It was because, they realised, the room was cluttered and cramped with decomposing corpses. The stench was nauseating, overpowering. So much that most of the team doubled up and vomited. But not the detective. He was too absorbed in his case. Furthermore, he had a special method of preventing nausea in times like these.

Without warning, a squelching sound erupted in front of them. It was coming from within the shadows.

A few, including the detective, stepped forward to try to discern the hidden figure. The rest, instinctively, cowered back, more wary of the happenings than ever. The men all expected to see a very black and bloody figure to emerge from the curtains, but what we expect will normally be highly inaccurate.

Nearer and nearer the detective and two of his men inched, until they were just a metre from the suspect. He crinkled his nose and bent forward, still unable to make out the hidden enemy.

When he was least expecting it, a translucent "thing" flew to his face and through him, wrenching his intestines out in the process. His colleagues screamed and shouted in shock and fright, with futile attempts to escape the damned building.

Their panic caused them to stumble over each other and human remains, slip and slide on the blood and body fluids covering the wooden planks and bang into the walls. They screamed and flailed and fell as the "thing" loomed closer.

Their end was near.

The "thing" decided to not waste any more time, and caused the remaining men to meet the same fate as their fallen leader. The "thing" gazed around it, admiring its handiwork. It swished around, and disappeared into another murky corner.

It emerged with solid bayonets in its hands, threw freshly mutilated bodies into the air and thrust bayonets through them, pinning his latest victims to the surrounding walls. More blood spewed forth, but the "thing" remained stainless. The blood just fell through.

It should be no surprise as to how the "thing" was able to do all it has, and not get stained by blood. Because it was a ghost. A spirit that was condemned to travel around the earth. A soul that was doomed to remain in the human world and not continue on to the Underworld.

On a side of its misty cheek was a vaporous but prominent scar. It smiled a broad smile, before flinging the remaining bayonets to the ground.

"Amen."

- - - - - -- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - --

"What do you think, Walter?" Integral asked, handing him the documents. "It's most peculiar, these attacks. My first impression was Anderson, but the autopsy showed no penetration of the body from the outside."

"My opinion does not differ much from yours, Sir Integral. But I am open to all possibilities. Perhaps the culprit is trying to frame Mr. Anderson?" he offered.

"Perhaps."

She leaned back in her chair, deep in thought. Walter sighed and went back to making tea. His employer had been very busy and troubled lately. So many problems but so little solutions.

"Walter," she said suddenly, still staring into space. "Have you ever had an encounter with the supernatural? Besides vampires, of course."

"Not that I can remember, Sir."

"Forget it then," she muttered distractedly. "Best to throw away such a ridiculous thought."

She snapped back to her butler, considering a moment before giving an order, "Get Alucard in on this one. Doubtless he'll do better than our human soldiers."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -

A cold full-mooned night.

That is the best time to hunt, in Alucard's opinion. He was happy, to be told to search and destroy a mysterious and hopefully formidable creature on such a beautiful night. Almost every step he took heightened his excitement. Every minute or so of walking, there blew a chill breeze.

Every now and then he stopped to sniff the air—undead foes may be hiding in the thick vegetation beside his path.

At long last, he reached the entrance to the mansion his Master was informed about. Alucard did not _really_ need the mansion's descriptions to confirm he found the right place. All he had to do was follow the smell it emitted. He could smell it from the time he stepped into the forest. Sporting a broad smirk, he crossed the threshold of the mansion.

However, the moment he entered, intense pain pressed in from all sides. Knowing that the place was either blessed or held some sort of charm, he immediately retreated. Outside he stood, contemplating his next move. If he entered again, who knew what "holy" tricks the enemy had up his sleeve. But if he were to return to Hellsing HQ to report that he was not suitable for this job, his reputation would surely be punished.

Alucard did not have to decide, though, as his target drifted out to greet him. He did a double take when he saw the spirit's face—it resembled that of the former paladin, Alexander Anderson. "So," he said in a low voice, chuckling, "the Judas _has_ a ghost counterpart."

If the ghost had heard what Alucard had said, it did not show, for it merely produced two bayonets and commented, "Vampires and humans who sell their soul to the undead shall not escape. Amen."

_Perhaps the hypocrite here does not know who I am,_ thought Alucard. The ghost, ever the impatient being, did not delay further. It flew straight for Alucard, as he had done to the others, only with his bayonets held behind its indistinct body, ready to strike. The vampire, eager to show his power, stood as still as a cardboard target. His head was sliced off, and his heart ripped out. His body fell forward onto the grass, and there it lay, motionless and covered in blood.

The ghost relaxed and stared at where his "victim" fell.

"Rest in peace."

Suddenly, it noticed that his foe's blood, head and heart had been reduced to plasma form, and was flowing steadily back to its owner. Most extraordinary.

Soon, Alucard returned to being unscathed and unharmed. "You see?" he laughed, pleased at his adversary's stunned face. "I cannot be killed." "And neither can I," the ghost retorted calmly.

"We'll see about that," he said, and began releasing the restrictions on his powers. "_Dracula, stop_!"

The ghost and his sparring partner turned in the direction the voice came from. It was Anderson.

"And why should I, Judas?"

"Because I gave the order for Alexander to stop you from setting the whole area on fire."

This time, it was Integral who spoke. She strode out of Anderson's shadow to full view. "You may return now, Alucard," she informed her servant. "Good work. Alexander will do the rest."

He cast an unreadable look at his Master and Anderson before fading. "Good luck then," he smirked. "And when I say "return"," the Hellsing continued, "I mean return back to Headquarters. This is an order." Alucard kept the mischievous smile on his face the whole time, as he had found a loophole in Integral's order. She merely said for him to _return_, but did not specify _when_. So he lingered in the already-hazy forest as mist.

"Now, to business." Integral stepped forward to the now-expressionless translucent figure, hardly afraid of it. "Mr. Alexander Anderson here," she gestured to the other being holding bayonets, "heard of our problem with you, and from the descriptions, confirmed you to be his ancestor, also an agent of Iscariot. Am I correct?" the ghost did not respond for a few minutes, then nodded very slightly. It could not believe that is was being civil to a _heretic_. Still, it did not act.

Integral assumed that the ghost wanted to know how they found him out, so proceeded to explain. "Mr. Anderson told us of the traditions of Iscariot. According to him, before one can enlist to be a paladin, one has to sacrifice blood. The Anderson family had an unwritten rule that all had to shed their blood via a cut on his cheek. All Anderson paladins also had to have bayonets for weapons, and it was customary for them to recite holy phrases, before or after a kill. Is that all accurate?"

Another nod.

"You, on the other hand, were damned to not go on to the afterlife, after failing to follow through a "purification" attempt of a five-year-old newly-turned vampire."

A look of sadness signified accurate information.

"The purpose of us here is to "forgive" you for whatever sin committed. Your descendant will be the one to do it." She then stepped aside for the regenerator to do his part. He prayed and prayed, recited and recited, until the spirit of the dead Anderson faded to the afterlife.

"That's our headache cured," she commented. Anderson smiled in agreement and strode back to her Rolls Royce.

Alucard, meanwhile, was already in his dungeon, grinning, pleased with himself. He now had something juicy to taunt the Judas.

* * *

Author's note: If you see any spelling or grammer mistakes, please inform me and I will correct them. 


End file.
